Whispering Rock: Year Two
by drunkymonkey
Summary: All the kids plus a new camper have another summer camp at Whispering Rock. With romance, intrigue, people who think that they can play guitar, and stuffed toy kittens. R&R please.


Dis: The awesome folks at Double Fine own Psychonauts and all the characters in this story (apart from Arnold, who is mine).Hurray!

I'm basing this as if it was the second year, and all the kids--plus a few other ones I might add--are back as well. I dunno if I'll make a big thing of it. Just gimme feedback, I quite like feedback. 

The kids' cabin area in Whispering Rock was very, very rarely quiet. There was always at least one argument, or someone giggling at unfunny, inappropriate jokes.  
Presently, it was morning, and the three lecturers, Coach Oleander and his two guests looked on disapprovingly as the kids ran around aimlessly, seemingly playing tag, or bulldog, or whatever was popular this year.  
'So unruly,' said Oleander. He was wearing a rather fetching tank-top. His medals had been thrown in the waste bin, and his mind, as far as Sasha and Milla could tell, was not full of tanks and machine guns any more. There were still a few occasionally grenade caused explosions, but that was like any mind. He didn't even tell the kids that they were all going to die any more.  
'It is good practice for them,' said Sasha, with his usual hand-on-chin expression. It always seemed to be glued there in times of thought.  
'Eh?' asked Oleander.  
'Well, they are training up their powers.'  
'They are?'  
'Yes, indeed. For example, look at Bobby Zilch. See that? He's holding up James "J.T" Hoofburger with an expert telekinesis PSI power. You can't tell me that isn't good for practice.'  
'Shouldn't we be stopping that?' asked Milla.  
'No,' said Sasha, 'if you look, Mr. Hoofburger's good friend Chops is about to send Bobby Zilch's pants on fire. That will teach him to use his powers in moderation, will it not?'  
'I'm not standing for that,' said Oleander, breathing out. 'Bobby Zilch! _What's that other one's name? Is it? Oh._ Chops Sweetwind! Will you two calm down?! Yes, I'm fully aware he was picking on your friend! You were about to set his pants on flames!' Oleander subsided, apparently satisfied with his tirade. He then raised his eyebrow at another sight. 'And what the hell is he doing?' he asked, with bewilderment.  
'Which one?' asked Shasta.  
'That one, man,' said Oleander, pointing at one of the boys of the camp. He was sitting on one of the cabin steps with a girl, trying, with some success, to nibble on her neck.  
'Oh, Nils Lutefisk, said Shasta, with a touch of disapproval. 'And I believe the girl he is with is...Phoebe Love. This must be his third this year.'  
'Irresponsible,' said Oleander, 'I bet his parents let him watch R-Rated movies.'  
'I think it's kind of cute, actually,' said Milla. The two men in the conversation snorted disapprovingly. 'What?' she asked, 'They're just growing up.'  
Shasta and Oleander shrugged almost simultaneously. In truth, it was one of the perks of the job; disapproving. It was a time for complementation, of thinking that your childhood was a lot more social. Of course, mostly it wasn't. Because they were Psychonauts. Psychonauts didn't used to have social childhoods.  
It was just good that they did now.

It was the first night of the camp;and procedures had been made to make sure the trees were completely unable to be climbed. It posed a health and safety risk, or so according to the inspectors that had been gathering in details about the site the week before the event started. And just to make doubly sure about it all, Razputin was sitting at the front, on a seat, not a log like the rest of the campers. The things that boy could do with wood were frightening.  
'Alright,' said Oleander, 'settle down. Yes, that means you as well, Kitty. What? Your daddy can sue me all he wants. In fact, I can give him the names of a few lawyers he might find useful.  
'Welcome,' continued Oleander, as the girl decided it was probably best to shut up, 'to the Psychonauts summer camp at Whispering Rock! Unfortunately, the projector is broken at the minute, due to a badly used telekinesis spell,' and with this he glanced unfavourably at Vernon Tripe, 'so we're just going to have to go without.' There was a slight change in the atmosphere, as if people had suddenly turned very, very pleased.  
'The first order of business is the arrival of a new recr-- member to our ranks. If he could just come up on stage, and we'll welcome him with the traditional Psychonauts welcome. And no, Bobby, before you make the joke, it doesn't mean you give him a damn wedgy.'  
Three kid, unknown to Raz, stepped up and trooped up to the stairs. He was dressed in a pin-striped suit, matching pants, and shoes shinier than Razputin's were scruffy. The newcomer held his head up high, walking quite proudly, apparently using his mental powers to hold a stuffed toy kitten suspended in mid air. He smiled unpleasantly at the assembled crowd, paying particular attention to Razputin himself.  
'His name is Arnold, and he comes from Britain,' said Oleander.  
'That's right!' said Arnold, his grin fading into a angry frown, 'and don't you foreign pigs dare treat me like an imbecile! I got level 5 for English in my SATS!'  
Oleander grimaced. A sure sign he was wanting to shout, but had decided to hold it in because he was a "new man."  
'We run a social camp ground here,' he explained, as nicely as he could, 'there is to be no bullying, or name-calling, or the suspect will be court mars-- told off.'  
'Good,' said the child, apparently satisfied with this statement. 'Is this the end of the welcome, I wonder?'  
'No,' said Sasha Nein, standing up. 'We will now welcome you, officially.'  
'You're that superhero, aren't you?' said Arnold, unimpressed. 'I've read all the comics. Personally, I think you are a fake.'  
'I know,' said Sasha, 'clairvoyance is a wonderful thing.'  
'What?' Arnold asked, despite himself, 'I didn't feel a thing!'  
'I know. I am an expert at this, aren't I?'  
There were a few smirks from the kids, watching this spectacle with interest.  
On the last row, Franke and Kitty were frantically whispering.  
'I love his cat!' said Franke, enthusiastically.  
'Oooh, he's British. He'll be a bad boy then,' said Kitty, dreamily, 'I like bad boys. They're exciting.'  
'Wouldn't it be funny if it just burst to life and it suddenly went "meow?"'  
'I'm sure he's got lots of ideas that I'd just love to hear.'  
'I owned a cat once.'  
'He's got a wicked smile too. I should introduce myself to him.'  
'It was called Percy.'  
'I could be the Flannel Femmel!'  
'I was so sad when it got flushed down the toilet...'  
'What?' asked Kitty, coming out of whatever world she was currently occupying.  
'I was just talking about the cat I used to have.'  
'Well don't. It's a silly story.'  
Elsewhere, J.T and Chops were discussing the prospect of a new villain to contend with.  
'There's a few kid on the block,' said J.T, radiating thoughtfulness.  
'You reckon we should befriend him?' asked Chops.  
'What?'  
'Well, you know. I get picked on because I'm a Canadian, and well, he's British, and I thought we might... strike and alliance, give him a badge, that sort of thing.'  
'I'm American!'  
'You are?' asked Chops, 'I always thought you were Dutch!'  
'What in tarnation gave you that idea?' asked J.T, offended. He had always found himself to be a credit to America, as a sheriff that wasn't on the edge, and someone who wasn't about to take a bribe. He had heard about bribes; he had even worn one, once.  
'It's just your accent,' said Chops. 'I always got the idea that you were Dutch.'  
'Well, I ain't,' said J.T defensively. 'I haven't even been to Dutch!'  
'Oh.'  
'Anyway, what's this about you wanting to form a Non-American alliance? That's grounds for...for...mootany.'

'Oh, nothing. It was just a joke.'

The trampoline, if it had any feelings, was probably feeling a bit used, at the present time. Coach Oleander had been amazed that not one of the inspectors had pointed out the obvious health and safety risk of a trampoline on the side of a building. It was probably just too obvious for them to actually see.  
It was an old, tattered trampoline, which was strange because it had only been in use a few years, but it was probably explained by the fact that the kids using it would make anything look old and tattered within minutes; perhaps even seconds.  
Presently, Chloe Barge was trying to get closer to space, via use of the death-trap. Her efforts had been thus far unsuccessful, but you were not an astronaut if you gave up after your first seventy-two goes. Even so, she was beginning to get a little irritated.  
This irritation was slightly (read: incredibly) intensified by the fact that Elton Fir was sitting on a deck-chair (no one knew where he got these from. They just seemed to suddenly appear), trying to tell her about the wonders of the sea.  
His sailor's hat was hanging down limply from his head, as he spoke in faraway tones. People tended to avoid him when he was in one of these moods, he tended to inform people when they bothered him that they were "scurvy dogs."  
'What I wouldn't do now for a fishing rod and...some fish, to fish for...' he said, almost poetically.  
What I wouldn't do now for an orbital bombardment, thought Chloe to herself. Or the Death Star, she added, smiling slightly.  
'Did I ever sing you that song about the boat that you rowed?' asked Elton, with the certain, unshakable knowledge that she was paying her fullest attention. When there was no reply, he took his as a "yes" and started to sing.

Meanwhile, away from all this horrid racket, in the main lodge, Phoebe Love and Quentin Hedgemouse were playing their usual instruments.  
They still hadn't decided on a band name. But they were getting there, they would insist to anyone that was listening. They also had a new member. Nils had decided that he was an excellent guitarist, and while this was stretching the truth to cataclysmic proportions, Phoebe didn't have the heart to say no. Quention certainly did, but had been convinced by Phoebe (via some surprisingly hurtful foot stamping) that he would be a valuable addition to the band. If anything, he would make the other two look better.  
He was also really quite enthusiastic about it. Apparently the bands he listened to were the sorts of bands that had "Parental Advisory" written on the front in very, very big letters. Quentin, scowling, had never heard of this band, but he didn't want to point it out, in case he didn't look cool.  
He also didn't like the way that the other two would have breaks where they'd go into the kid's room and sit on the sofa. Making out. With tongues everything! And Nils had suggested that his scarf was "gay." It was a nice scarf, and there was nothing wrong with it.

The forest was nice this time of year, Razputin had decided. Admittedly he hadn't seen it at any other time of year, and it might have been better in Autumn, but Raz was not a fussy person.  
Since last year, there had been a small play park built in one of the forest's clearing, where brand new utilities of excitement made the kids lives a lot more exciting. It was also rarely overcrowded, considering lazier members of the camp couldn't be bothered to trek all the way out to the forest just to go down a slide.  
So it was peaceful. At least it was when a child hadn't fallen off said slide, and had decided to inform the world of this via the medium of crying.  
One of the things that Razputin didn't get was that he was always the one that was having to push the swing forward, while Lili was the one that would be sitting on it and telling him to go "faster." This is common is most ways of life. The man is always the one that has to go faster.  
Dogan was sitting on base of the slide, while Elka was on the other swing, trying to tell people about all her personal problems, including Nils, who she was reportedly "so totally over" but still insisted on talking about him for the better half of the day. Razputin had considered telling her to shut up once or twice, but he feared her brain would explode.  
'I mean, I can see he so totally wants me,' she said flatly, 'he's just going out with Phoebe to get back at me, it's so obvious. Who would be that sad?'  
'Didn't you do that last year?' asked Lili, radiating innocence.  
It appeared that Elka had not been programmed to hear things like this. 'But as I said, I don't really care about him. In fact, I'm happy for him really, if it's good for him, it's good for me.'  
'Thanks the spirit, Elka,' said Razputin, heaving the seated Lili "higher".  
'Hey, did anyone like the camp entertainment last night?' asked Dogan. He too wanted to get off the subject, but he was an expert liar (he was far too suspicious to suspect of anything) and he was far too innocent to harbour thoughts of shutting Elka up.  
'Listening to Coach sing "War"?' asked Razputin, 'I think he's really going for it with this pacifist thing.'  
'I didn't get any sleep last night,' said Elka, 'nope, not one bit. There was an awful draft in the cabin. Wasn't there, Lili?'  
'I suppose so,' replied Lili.  
'Oh,' said Razputin, as if a metaphorical light bulb had just turned on in his head, 'that was Ni-- like that last year. Yeah.'  
'Was it?' asked Elka suspiciously, 'I can't remember.'


End file.
